What to say if you liked it
A perspicacious portrayal of one of the most troubled icons of this or any other era.
What to say if you didn’t like it
Like scrutinizing the universe into areas which galaxies have not yet spread, where there is Kate Moss there is just a void of absolute emptiness.
What was good about it?
• Oddly, we are now far more sympathetic to Moss (sorry, we know it would be politer to call her ‘Kate’, but see below as to why that’s too repugnant) than we were before the show began. She rarely seems to have courted publicity like so many of her peers; and while she is most exposed by modelling, she could argue that it’s just her day job. That’s not to say she’s anything more than the cultural irrelevance which irrefutably describes all models, though.
• The perhaps intentional disembodied quotations floating around at the end of the show. “It goes on under everybody’s noses, but no-one’s prepared to admit it” and “I don’t think she’s at the end of the line yet”.
What was bad about it?
• Many of the contributing fashion journalists only had their names flashed up on screen which means we will have to refer to them with the same vindictive cruelty that seeps from their pens each day.
• The fashion journalist with blonde hair who opens her mouth as if she’s a lioness on the Serengeti chomping down an extra large slice of zebra buttock remarked: “I think she loves being an icon.” And this was just one of thousands of platitudes expressed by people with no defined connection to Moss which cluttered the entire profile.
• The editor of GQ (we missed his name, too) excusing the Mirror printing the photos of Moss snorting cocaine because it was “a great piece of tabloid journalism”, was reminiscent in spirit, if not deed, of those who claimed Hitler’s pogroms were worthwhile as they invigorated the German economy.
• We did catch one name – Nadia Brooks. Apparently, she’s something called a “Showbiz Diarist” which conjures images of a sozzled hack in a raincoat or Ralph Lauren dress, face contorted with pious malice, scribbling down partial half-truths and lies manipulated to sell newspapers regardless of the truth.
• The notion that Moss’s gender was the primary reason for the media vilification, put forward by GQ Editor, who oozes sentences as if rinsing his teeth with bile, and the lion-like journalist. She seethed that women, unlike Liam Gallagher and Robert Downey Jr, “weren’t allowed to have fun”. Leaving aside the implication that taking cocaine should be bracketed with going on the bouncy castle or driving on the dodgems, it is more to do with the nature of Moss’s job rather than her gender. Liam Gallagher, for instance, is a talented member of a once-great band is at the core of producing the sensation from the music, Moss, on the other hand, is little more than a stooge to demonstrate the “talent” of a fashion designer with no real input into how the garment is perceived, and thus she is much more expendable by the companies who employ her to promote their products. If her role in fashion was translated to music she would be a soaring vocal melody, a crunching guitar riff, or, more likely, a cacophonous dirge.
• One of the commentators exclaimed in horror that there was “hypocrisy in fashion and the media”. Next week, she’ll invent the wheel.
• Apparently, Moss was “very emblematic of the ‘grunge scene’” (and we’re sorry that we can’t transmit the revulsion with which she said the phrase ‘grunge scene’), and even more laughably “the acceptable face of grunge”. Again, this is the Orwellian re-writing of history by some parts of the media. Fashion was never allowed into “grunge”, the whole movement was anti-fashion. The only people who ever wore “grunge”
as a fashion were those who saw it on the catwalk, modelled by Moss and her ilk, six months after Kurt Cobain’s suicide and were eager to adhere to the trends of the time. They would even have dyed the hair on the back of their head crimson if they thought it
would make them look “cool”.
• One of the commentators whose teeth look like a pick axe hooked into a facial slab of unadulterated conceit said everyone would dream of Moss’s lifestyle “knocking back champagne, decked out in diamonds, total icons on her arm, Ralph Lauren dress on a
beach”. Nobody dreams of such a life, the only people who aspire to such a crass lifestyle no longer have the capacity to dream.
• Sophie Anderton said of the invasion of Moss’s private life by the media “was like being raped”. Of course it wasn’t, it was an appallingly insensitive analogy and showed up only Anderton’s inability to articulate her emotions.
• Fatuous GQ editor again: “Going out with Johnny Depp gave her the Hollywood seal of approval.” Firstly, we doubt Hollywood is a single entity handing out endorsements in the vein of St Peter to non-entities and dullards. And secondly, who’d want the approval of that cesspit of corporate corruption?
• If scientific progress was appraised with the same depth of thought and analysis as this programme humanity would still be scared of fire.
• The old journalist who looks like she now gets her face massaged with an industrial sander spat out that Peter Doherty sings “crappy songs”. In his short career, Doherty has already contributed more to the art of this island than half a century of fashion.
• The ostentatious, ominous music which accompanied the film of Moss snorting the cocaine which is more commonly associated with slasher films when the nubile teen is about to get her throat cut.
• The aging fashion journalist who jerks her head sporadically as if trying to balance her new face on her skull. “Everybody loves Kate. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t think she isn’t absolutely fabulous.”
• The fact that none of the commentators seemed to actually know her and all their commentary was guesswork, even though they incessantly referred to her with faux intimacy as “Kate”.
• That behind the eyes of all the contributors (even the GQ editor), there was a raging jealousy that they couldn’t be Kate Moss.